I looked in the direction of the music and saw a girl in a fancy convertible. She didn’t look like any rich woman that I had seen before: she was too young to be a business lady, who was earning enough money to have such a car. Neither did she have the arrogant “I won the life lottery” look of a wife of a rich husband. She could be a daughter of a rich man, partying on her father’s money… but then the music would be characteristic “Boom-Boom-Boom”, whereas what attracted my attention was a piece of opera, which I loosely placed somewhere in “The Barber of Seville”. Indeed, this was not one of the flashy famous arias, but something not immediately recognizable - which means that she either had a full record of the opera or the car radio was tuned to the classical music channel.

I decided that she must be the heiress of an ancient family, who inherits from her ancestors not only their fortune, but also their developed in generations sophistication.

Her car stopped in a minor traffic jam, and I had enough time to look her over while I passed by. A bit later the jam moved, and I passed her by again. This time she was looking me over. She was quite confident and did not take her eyes away when I glanced back at her.

The thing that single men do best is fantasizing about romantic situation, in which a gorgeous woman makes a pass on them. So I thought through the whole thing for her: since I am on the opposite side of the street, she cannot just stop by me. Thus, her only option is to wait till the traffic moves, pass me, and take the left turn into the next perpendicular street.

Soon I discovered that the jam was due to a traffic light near the entrance to the wide George V Boulevard. As I crossed the boulevard, I presumed that she would turn into the boulevard and vanish from my life. Yet, to my great surprise, a minute later I saw her in front of me prepared to make the left turn into the street that I was approaching to!

She seemed to be hesitating, throwing alternating glances on me and on the incoming traffic, as if not sure whether she would succeed to make the turn before I cross the street or whether it would be better to overtake me in the next block.

I remembered my friend’s recent advice to be less pretentious, and put my eyes down. She made the left turn, slowly passed by me and drove away. Perhaps, she mistook me for someone else.

L'héritière et moi

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